Tasteful Darkness

Chapter 33

Balendin - Now

"Vincent, talk to me. Please."

Despite the fact that he's sitting right next to me, I can barely hear him. All I can hear are the sounds of fire consuming the bookstore and swallowing Peter with it.

"Vincent—"

"When is this reception over?" I cut in.

"Well..." He must be fighting back his urge to make sure I'm all right because it seems to be taking a lot of effort for him to speak. "I don't know. It was supposed to last a few hours, but I think you should be getting back home."

I scoff. "You're sending me away?"

"Vincent, you know that's not what I mean."

I stop smiling at the sight of his eyes. "I know. You're probably right."

"I am right. Can you stand?"

I don't know if I can until he helps me onto my feet. I'm unsteady for a moment, and I quickly detach myself from Peter. I can't stand the thought of touching him right now, not after what I saw. I can barely look at him without flinching.

He's looking at me. I can see it out of the corner of my eye. His eyes are wide with concern and sympathy, and I want to scream at him. I want to grab him by the coat and yell at him to come with me—away from here. I can keep him safe. I can stop the inevitable.

"Come on," he says. "I'll get a carriage to take you home."

He starts walking away, and I grab him by the wrist. He turns, his eyes locking onto mine.

"I'm not leaving," I say firmly.

Not without him. Not knowing that he's about to die.

His brow furrows as he steps towards me. "What do you mean? You need to rest—and you definitely shouldn't be drinking anymore tonight."

"That's fine, I won't, but I'm not leaving. You were supposed to come to my place afterwards, remember?"

He is silent for a moment. "All right, but take things easy. I don't know what I'd do if you got hurt."

His words make me smile, and I quickly remember what we did before I fell into his eyes. The way he looked at me—the way I touched him.

My smile flickers into a hungry grin.

Peter hasn't made any effort to walk away a second time. My hand is still on his wrist, and he's still standing an arms length away.

"What you said yesterday," he starts, and my head starts to spin, "back at the bookstore. You said you were falling in love with someone."

I shift nervously, releasing his wrist. "Yes. I did. And I am."

He nods, looking down. "Was that person...?" He looks up, locking eyes with me. "Were you talking about me?"

For a moment, I say nothing because my vocal cords refuse to function. I stand here, my lips parted and my voice nowhere to be found. I clear my throat and force myself to speak.

"Yes," I say. "I'm afraid I was."

He lets out a sigh of relief. "Afraid?" he says, furrowing his brow. "Why on earth are you afraid?"

"You know how I feel about love. I told you yesterday, and that was the truth. It terrifies me, more than you could ever know. I don't know what I'm doing, Peter, and it's destroying me."

He doesn't joke. He doesn't respond with a sarcastic comment. He just watches me, taking in my words.

"I know what it is like to be afraid of love," he says, slowly. "To be afraid of losing it."